


The sound of High Heels

by Leshy



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Genderfluid Sherlock, M/M, Protective John, Supportive Donovan, Supportive Lestrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-08
Updated: 2015-04-08
Packaged: 2018-03-21 21:11:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3704929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leshy/pseuds/Leshy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock and John are called in very suddenly to a crime scene, interrupting their date.<br/>Everyone is shocked, and some are more accepting than others.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The sound of High Heels

**Author's Note:**

> Sooooooo, I decided to go over this old drabble posted to my tumblr and post it here to cheer myself up. If you've read it there already you'll notice it's a lil bit different but not by much, mainly the small additions of Sally. In the end it's just a fluffy comfort thing. Sometimes you just need supportive people in your life. Also I really like Sally, I should write more stuff with her in it. In my head she doesn't like Sherlock cus he disrupts her job, but they could be friends if the circumstances were different. And she's hella compassionate about people.

Imagine a crime scene. Are you imagining it? Perhaps you need a bit of help.  
Police tape lines the mouth of an alley, a regular London alleyway you’ll find just about anywhere. Heading down the alleyway there’s a turn, obscured by a couple of dumpsters and huge piles of garbage, behind this wall of foul smelling things there is more tape. One can never have enough police tape at a crime scene after all. Here lies the mangled body of a woman in her thirties, a pool of blood surrounding her, originating from the deep stab wounds in her torso. People in blue overalls mill about like ants, doing their work. At the edge of the taped off area a man with silver hair stands with his phone in hand and an irritated expression on his face. Besides him a woman stands with an equally irritated frown on her face. They are colleagues, sometimes even friends. The source of such irritation is the same man, and somewhat the same cause. The man is irritated that the aforementioned other man is late, the woman is irritated the man will have to show up at all, regardless of timing.

Footsteps is heard at the mouth of the alley, a thump thump thump moving slightly faster than a steady clack clack clack. This of course means that the first is shorter than the other and will have to move their feet faster to keep up with the second one. Of course this crosses no ones mind as the two figures round the corner and reveals themselves to be none other than John Watson and Sherlock Holmes. It's not a strange enough sight to distract them as such, especially since they were anticipated, even invited. No. What distracts them is that the steady clack clack clack they heard, the unmistakable sound of high heels on pavement, comes from he consulting detective. Sporting the signature black Belstaff coat his silhouette is impossible to miss, but upon closer inspection this is the only iconic feature the consultant is sporting other than the genetic ones he has been wearing without a say in it himself since birth. The curls are slightly curlier, softer looking, face tinted in light and flattering makeup, and a black dress reaching mid calf flutters dramatically in time with the coat.  
All activity pauses as the two nears the tape, ducks under, and strides right up to the current victim splayed out on the ground. The silence is deafening, everyone waiting for someone to be brave enough, or stupid enough, to break the suddenly tense silence. Lestrade is the one to bite the hypothetical bullet since he is the least likely one to have to bite an actual bullet should a wrong step actually occur.  
"Were... I'm sorry, were you two already on a case?"  
Sherlock is currently crouched over the body, one hand holding the dress from touching the ground (the blood covered ground it should be noted) and the other holding the small magnifying glass. John, as often is his wont, answers in Sherlocks stead.  
"No."  
"Oh."

And that seems to be the end of it, except even John can feel the intense stares and the curiosity building in the air.  
"We were on a date, actually."  
And the statement is a challenge. A dare. Everyone knows Sherlocks words can cut as deep as the sharpest scalpel, but if you value your physical health and well being, you do not take John Watson up on such a statement. They have all seen the consequences of such an event. It wasn’t pretty.  
However we have all long since established that people are generally stupid, and so someone misses the obvious tone of Johns voice, the glare in his eye, and decides to get in a good jibe at the detective they all somewhat resent in varying amounts.  
“What the hell kind of get up is that?” a voice pipes up from the back. If looks could kill Sally would have murdered the man twice over by now.  
If the silence was tense before the encompassing stillness was practically tangible in the air as the comment sunk in. A very few were holding back laughter or snickers, but those who knew better stared at the equally unmoving backs of the pair. It’s the sort of predatory stillness that is usually followed by a pounce and the sound of ripping flesh and splattering blood. If John could he would be growling given the set of his shoulders and his clenched hands.  
Sometimes he doesn’t show up to crime scenes the way he wants to. At times he wants to show up in flowing dresses or skirts, flower prints and light pastels. Bows and jewellery and makeup. These are the more extreme cases, where going all out femme would be the preferred course of action, but even Sherlock with all the lack of social standards and boundaries that seem to be ever present doesn’t dare risk it. Too aware of the taboos and prejudice in greater society. Outside the safe walls of Baker Street. But inside, at home, he is free to dress and act as he likes to. He has been for a while now, but that’s a story for another time. Right here and right now, Sherlock pauses, looks at the handful of dress bunched up in the curled fist, watches as it tightens and knuckles turn white with the force. For a moment he has forgot, only a moment, the thrill of a case in a dry spell that had lasted far too long. They had been eating at a restaurant, one they didn’t usually frequent, so Sherlock had gotten dressed with this in mind. For once safety on the outside of the walls. He had jumped it since he had wanted to, since John had said to dress comfortably, with everything that the word implied in this regard, and so that had been how he had dressed for the evening.  
Now what felt like freedom suddenly felt more like a cage.

John turns to Lestrade with the steel eyes of the soldier he still is.  
“Keep your people in line, or we’re leaving.” He is deadly calm, and Lestrade understands he means it for good.  
“Won’t happen again.” He says in a loud voice, ensuring everyone will hear and understand. Sally gives one decisive nod from where she's standing next to Lestrade, fire in her eyes.  
Sherlock rises from the crouched position and walks animatedly towards the three. No emotions show themselves on his face, it is like a mask of cold marmor. His steps are calculated, and even with the heels there is a decisive and accurate pace to them. When he reaches Lestrade he stops and says in a voice where all feeling is absent.  
“The only crime committed here was that somebody stabbed a corpse, she was dead before she hit the ground, tumour. Check her medical records and you’ll see. Find the newly hired employee at the restaurant to the right of the entry to the alley, he’s probably got some repressed homicidal tendencies.”  
And with that he starts walking away, John stares after him and makes to move when Lestrade stops him. John takes one look at his face and sighs like he has fought this battle countless times before.  
“It’s not some weird kink or fetish, it’s who he is. And she is. And they are. It’s all just Sherlock, as simple and as complex as Sherlock ever is.”  
Lestrades face softens, John sounds so convinced and ready to defend, he’s glad Sherlock has found someone willing to be this to him.

“Just one question, you said date?”  
John smiles suddenly. Lestrade and Sally can't help but sport matching twin grins.  
“We’ve lived and worked together for about five years now, seemed like something to celebrate.” And then he trails after Sherlock to finish the date, Lestrade stops him again however.  
“Just tell Sherlock, whatever he wears, or they wear I guess, I’ll kick anyone who says a single thing about it off the case, no hesitation.” He pauses and thinks for a bit. “Unless it’s not seriously provoked by Sherlock themself, you know how it is. I can’t say I understand much, but it seems important, and as long as you’re with this it’s a safe bet what’s right in regards to Sherlock.” Sally grins at the comment.  
"Yeah, Sherlock might be annoying, but they don't deserve this crap, not over something like this." she offers.  
John smiles a full on grin at this.  
“It’s good to know you’re with us on this, both of you, it means a lot. I’ll tell them.”  
And then he’s finally off, Lestrade watches his retreating back and hopes he gets to fire someone for harassing Sherlock about this too much. They’re friends after all.


End file.
